


How Heather Chandler's death could have been avoided

by ChandlerHeather



Category: Heathers (1988), Heathers: The Musical - Murphy & O'Keefe
Genre: Bisexual Veronica Sawyer, David - Freeform, F/F, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Lesbian Heather Chandler, Remington Party, Though the comfort is more chapter 2, brad - Freeform, not that they get together in this fic but maybe one day, nothing explicit happens but sexual assault is discussed in the second chapter
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-31
Updated: 2020-01-31
Packaged: 2021-02-25 05:27:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,666
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22490782
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChandlerHeather/pseuds/ChandlerHeather
Summary: What would have happened if Veronica realised what David did to Heather at the Remington party? Hint: Heather wouldn't have been the one to end up dead.
Relationships: Heather Chandler & Veronica Sawyer
Comments: 3
Kudos: 26





	How Heather Chandler's death could have been avoided

**Author's Note:**

  * For [notaguitarfret](https://archiveofourown.org/users/notaguitarfret/gifts).



> I'm bitter about Heather Chandler's death, and writing this made some of that bitterness go away. 
> 
> Chapter two is nearly finished and takes place entirely in Heather's car. In it, Veronica finally gets the mythic bitch that is Heather Chandler to let down her guard.
> 
> Notaguitarfret: I love your AU and I love your blog, so I hope you don't mind me gifting this to you.

“Come on, David. Shouldn't we get back to the party?” Heather Chandler glances at the door, hoping someone will walk in and interrupt them. Even if all they do is stagger in and puke on the carpet, giving her an excuse to leave. Even if their vomit gets on her shoes. Anything would be better than this. 

David’s hand sneaks further up her thigh. “We will.” He lowers his voice, as if he thinks that will make him sound more alluring. His mouth plants itself on her neck, leaving heavy kisses everywhere she doesn’t want them. “It's just, you're so hot tonight.” His breath is warm and reeks of beer, chips, and some other concoction Heather can’t quite put her finger on. Not that she wants to. “I can't control myself.”

. . . . . . . . . . .

“Heather? Heather?” Veronica Sawyer pushes past the various college students milling in the kitchen.

Well, “various” is a stretch. They all look pretty much interchangeable: all white, all men, all probably assholes. 

She wrinkles her nose as one looks her up and down, a smile on his face. “In your fucking dreams,” she mutters, pushing past him too. “Heather?” She hadn’t thought tracking down the only other girl at this party could be this hard; Heather’s hair is big enough to be seen from across the room and her dress is bright red for God’s sake.

Veronica peers out of the window above the sink, but there’s nobody on the balcony outside.

“Hey…. you. You looking for your friend?” A drunken voice comes up behind her and she groans. 

She spins around and is met with the sight of Brad, who is holding a red plastic cup in each hand. 

He holds one out to her. “Care for a hit?”

Veronica scoffs. What a stupid fucking way to offer someone a drink. “Why would I accept anything from you? I literally just met you tonight.” 

Brad bristles. “Because if you do, then maybe I’ll help you find Heather.”  
  
“Oh, so you remember her name?” Veronica scoffs, raising her eyebrows, and turns to face the hallway. There’s a multitude of closed doors down there. Odds are, Heather is behind one of them. She swallows back the bile she can feel rising in her throat, feeling ill despite managing to avoid alcohol all evening. Her stomach gurgles. 

“Everyone remembers Heather’s name,” says Brad. He chuckles. “Everyone remembers lots of things about Heather. Dunno if she remembers them though.”

Veronica rolls her eyes and marches towards the doors, more than prepared to bodily haul Heather out of the party if she has to. She can’t believe she actually agreed to come to this fucking university in the first place, and she’s determined to get out before she feels even sicker. 

The first door she comes across is locked, and when she knocks on it there’s no response. She moves on.

The second door opens as soon as she wraps her fingers around the handle, as if it hadn’t been properly shut to begin with.

Veronica steps inside the room and is met with the sight of three or four guys, all wearing glasses or cloaks or both. The curtains inside are drawn, and the boys are illuminated only by a dim overheard lamp. It’s a far cry from the bright bulbs in the rest of the building.

Veronica frowns. “Sorry, wrong room.” 

One of the guys stands up, and Veronica sees a plastic sword dangling from his belt. She takes in his glasses, combed hair and floor length cloak. Then she wonders how much he hates living with the fuckwits in this dormitory.

“Can we help you?” he asks, nodding to the others in the room. They’re all sitting around some sort of board game, staring at Veronica curiously.

She looks behind her, then steps further inside the room. The noise of the party ebbs away after only a few metres, the obnoxiously loud music and drunken conversations just a mere humming in the background. She considers how much less the party would have sucked if she’d been sitting with these geeks all night instead of being introduced to Brad and David. 

Then again, the lack of light and the heat generated from so many bodies in such a small room weren’t helping her stomach settle. In fact, they were doing the opposite.

“I’m looking for my friend,” she says. “And I hate to bother you, but I am really desperate to leave before I throw up all over that already disgusting hall carpet out there. Plus, if I get groped one more time tonight, I might riot.”

Sword guy sighs, then gestures for his friends to stand up. They all look beyond weird, but Veronica thinks she would actually enjoy joining in with whatever it is they’re playing. She knows there’s no way the Heathers would agree to it, though. She’s lucky they play croquet. 

“We’ll help you,” says her new friend, holding out his hand. Veronica shakes it tentatively. “I’m Will. We all know how awful those guys can be, so we’ll try and get you both out as soon as we can.”

Veronica looks at the others. There are four altogether, like she had considered, one of them is just short. “I don’t think you all need to come,” she says, knowing how much attention she’d draw to herself parading around the party with a bunch of geeks wearing fancy dress costumes. “I’m sure just me and you will be okay.”

Will shakes his head. “If we all come, we can surround you.”

“We can form a barrier,” says the short one.

Veronica smiles, trying to imagine him being able to protect her. 

“If we’re surrounding you, nobody will grope you,” another one adds. 

Veronica feels her shoulders relax, then realises just how tense her body must have been all evening. “Thank you.” Her stomach gurgles again, more violently this time.

“When a lady’s in distress, it is our duty to help.” Will places a hand on his sword, smiling. “Now, what’s your friend called?”

“Heather. Heather Chandler.”

There’s a small gasp from the boys as they begin to mutter to each other. 

Veronica cocks her head to the side. “Do you know her?”

Will sighs. He begins to fiddle with the strings around his neck that are holding his cloak together. “She’s kind of well-known around here. She won’t want us going to find her.”

“Well, why not?” Veronica asks, honestly a little pissed that everyone knows Heather but have hardly even heard of her. It’s not that she wants to be notorious, but Heather is just. Well. Heather. Sure, she’s a big deal at Westerburg, but Remington is a university. Surely its students have better things to concern themselves with than some entitled high school junior.

“We’re losers,” the short one confesses, kind of unnecessarily. “I don’t think she’s the type of person to want to associate with us.”

Will nods. “He’s right. If she sees you with us, then I can’t imagine her being very impressed with you.” 

Veronica groans. “I don’t fucking care how she treats me after this. I just want to get the fuck out of this party. Come on!” She takes hold of Will’s hand and drags him out of the room, leaving the others staring at her in awe. The short one hurries to close the door after they leave.

“If you’re all so used to Heather Chandler being here,” says Veronica, releasing Will from her vice-like grip, “then you should be able to give me a hint about where she is.”

She crosses her arms, trying to ignore the growing pain in her lower stomach. Once again, she tastes bile in her mouth. 

“She’s probably with David,” says Will, ducking his face as if to hide from the students walking past them. It’s a valiant effort, but it doesn’t prevent him from sticking out like. Well. Like a guy wearing a cloak at a party.

Veronica sighs, bringing her hand up to her forehead. “Of course she is. Why the fuck didn’t I think of that?” She glances around the hallway. “And where would David be?” 

Will points to the door at the bottom of the hall, nearest the building’s exit. “That’s his room.” 

“Thank you,” says Veronica, smiling in relief. She kisses Will’s cheek. “I hope you enjoy your game.” She strides towards David’s door, relieved that her sick feeling is finally beginning to subside. 

Without bothering to knock, she pushes open the door and sees David sitting on the couch.  
He’s fumbling with the zipper on his pants, and he grins up at her as she walks in. It isn’t hard to guess what him and Heather were doing. Gross. “Hey. Veronica, right? Have you come for a turn?”

Veronica rolls her eyes. Of course he’s the one who remembers her fucking name. “No, I’m here for Heather. Where is she?”

David nods to the en-suite bathroom and stands, staggering a little. “She’s just getting some water. She’s a good little girl, she is.” He pats Veronica’s shoulder before re-entering the party, and she scoffs as he closes the door behind himself.

The light in his room isn’t much brighter than the one in Will’s, but it’s enough to illuminate the walls that are covered in posters of shirtless women. Veronica studies them all, recognising some from the newest issue of Playboy. Not that she’d bought it or anything. It definitely wasn’t hidden under her bed with folded down corners on her favourite pages.

“Heather?” There’s no response. Veronica exhales and walks over to the bathroom door. “Heather, come on. I wanna go home now.” She knocks on the thin wood, the sound echoing in the room. “Have you had your after sex piss?” Still nothing. Veronica furrows her eyebrows. “Heather?” 

There’s a sniffle from the other side of the door. “Go home without me.” 

That uneasy sick feeling creeps back into Veronica’s stomach. She tries her best to ignore it. “As much as I want to, I can’t. You drove us here, remember?”  
. . . . . . . . . . .

Heather lets out a shaky breath as she tries her best not to scream at Veronica. A lift home? That’s what she’s concerned about?

She glares at herself in the water stained mirror as tears start to fall down her cheeks. They land on her neck, on the purple hickies he left there. She paws at her skin desperately, trying to scrub the tears away. It’s too late to try and hide the fact she's been crying though; her mascara is already ruined, her eyes already bloodshot.

“Heather? What the fuck are you doing in there?” There’s a grunt, then Heather finds herself facing Veronica, the door having been pushed open and slammed against the wall. 

Heather turns her head away, sniffing violently. “What do you think I was fucking doing? Don’t be a pillowcase, Veronica.” She grabs her purse from the sink and pushes past Veronica, storming back into the room. She doesn’t even tried to hide her relief at seeing that David is no longer there.   
. . . . . . . . . . .

Veronica stares after her, wondering why the mega-bitch that is Heather Chandler is suddenly so desperate to hide her face. She storms after her. “Heather, stop!” She grabs Heather’s shoulder and spins her around so they’re looking at each other. 

Heather’s eyes are still watering, as she stares back at Veronica. “Why? I thought you were desperate to get out of here.”

Veronica blinks at Heather’s bedraggled appearance. Her hair is rattier than Veronica could ever imagine it being, as if it’s had hands dragging their way through it. Tugging it, tangling it. Veronica wonders if it was David’s hands or Heather’s own. 

“I am... But,” she trails off, her eyes lingering on Heather’s lipstick. Or, rather, her lack of.   
Heather’s lips had been scarlet at the start of the evening, tantalisingly so, but now they are ghostly pale. She does, however, still have small traces of the bright red on her skin. They drip from the corner of her mouth like blood. 

Veronica frowns. Heather had been standing in front of a mirror, so it doesn’t make sense for her to not have even attempted fixing her make-up. “Are you okay?” she asks, boldly for someone who still feels like she might hurl. 

“Why wouldn’t I be?” Heather squints at Veronica. “You should be asking yourself that question. You look like shit.”

Veronica scoffs, then her gaze lands on the couch behind Heather. She remembers David messing with the crotch of his jeans and leaving without letting Heather know. She stiffens.

As if she can tell that Veronica’s about to ask something invasive, Heather marches towards the doorway. “Come on. Let’s motor so nobody else sees you looking that God-awful.” 

Veronica, still concerned but also desperate to leave, follows her back into the hallway. She isn’t prepared to be met once again with the blaring music and bright lights however, and she can feel her head spinning from the change in environment.

She clasps a hand over her mouth, her stomach heaving and throat already aching.   
. . . . . . . . . . .

“Veronica? What the fu-" Before Heather can even finish her sentence, vomit pours from Veronica’s mouth and onto the beer-stained carpet. Heather jumps out of the way before it can touch her, squealing at the mess and the smell. “Veronica!” Her voice is shrill, and draws the attention of all the party goers that hadn’t already turned in their direction. 

Heather cringes under their gazes, immediately regretting her outburst. She lets her hair fall over her eyes, hoping everyone’s too drunk to notice she’s been crying. 

Veronica splutters, then wipes her mouth on the back of her hand. “Sorry. That’s kinda why I wanted to leave.” She spits the puke that still remained in her mouth onto the floor. 

The students in the hallway laugh and whoop as she does, though their jeers are accompanied by disgusted looks.

Heather watches her, her mind reeling as she considers the consequences of what Veronica's just done. She knows David could crucify them both for this, utterly destroying Heather's reputation in the process. It isn’t that fact that’s bothering her though, not really. 

More tears spring into her eyes. If Veronica had found her just twenty minutes sooner and decided to hurl all over the floor then, they could have left sooner. They could have left before David had the chance to do anything. 

“Y-you stupid fuck,” Heather stammers, her voice breaking. She’s painfully aware of everyone’s eyes on her. “I got you into a fucking Remington party, and what's my thanks? I get paid in puke!" She grabs Veronica’s wrist and tugs her out of the door, tripping ever so slightly in her heels.   
. . . . . . . . . . .

“I told you I never wanted to come in the first place!” argues Veronica as she is led down the stairs. When they finally step outside, she wriggles her arm away from Heather. “You’re the one who decided to whore me out to some sleazy college dude!”

Heather raises her eyebrows. “Excuse me?” 

“Newsflash, Heather. Most girls don’t need to sleep with random guys to validate themselves.” There’s a pause and Veronica inhales, glad to have finally let out some of the frustration she’s felt rising all evening. “Now, just take me home. Please.” She walks to Heather’s car, pausing only when she doesn’t hear anyone tottering behind her. “Heather?”

Veronica turns, and sees Heather swaying slightly where she’s standing. She walks back to her. The usually stern, threatening look of Westerburg’s leader is nowhere to be seen; it has been replaced by a look of sheer horror.

“Are you okay?” Veronica asks reluctantly. 

“Do you really think that’s what I do?” Heather mutters. She isn’t looking at Veronica. 

“I-”

“Forget it.” Heather pushes past Veronica and stalks into the college parking lot. She’s shivering in her party dress. 

Veronica watches her go, shaking her head as she follows her. Something is wrong with Heather Chandler, and she’s going to find out what. 

**Author's Note:**

> I finally fulfilled my dream of giving Will Byers a cameo in a Heathers fanfiction. He'll be back in part three! 
> 
> And, if anyone's interested, the next chapter is called The Aftermath. The third is The Revenge.


End file.
